Treasure Island

Bill Steward


When young girls grow up


Every one of your problems
You blamed her for
You call her a whore
Then you beat her to the floor
She sits pleading
And bleeding
Layin in your bed
False sense of power
Surging through your head
She lays in cower
Scared to fail
Pail
With fear
She draws near
She grabs the dagger
Without a stagger
She burries the blade
In your chest
As it tears your flesh
You open your eyes
You see the daughter
Of a rapist
Who no longer hides
As the dagger moves in sequence
Your grave gets deeper
And with every stab
She's less your daughter
With every stab
She grows up
And as you die
With blood stained hands
She dies to.

Submitted: Friday, November 02, 2007
Edited: Thursday, April 21, 2011

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